


Grilled Cheese Chasers

by GotTheSilver



Category: Suits (TV)
Genre: Drunkenness, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-04
Updated: 2012-02-04
Packaged: 2017-10-30 13:55:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,193
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/332466
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GotTheSilver/pseuds/GotTheSilver
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>(612) I don't care.  It has been a 14 hour day and we are all celebrating by alternating shots and grilled cheese.</p><p>
  <i>Shot glasses, limes and a salt shaker were scattered across Harvey's very nice, very expensive glass table.  Mike's head hurt.  From the tequila or the situation, he wasn't quite sure.  Another shot sounded good about now.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Grilled Cheese Chasers

**Author's Note:**

> I have a really bad habit of trawling Texts From Last Night. This is what happens. Not mine, I'm just playing. I know 612 isn't a New York area code, but this was too much fun to pass up.

_(612) I don't care. It has been a 14 hour day and we are all celebrating by alternating shots and grilled cheese._

Mike isn't sure what he's doing here. The sofa is comfy. He's really not sure why Harvey is here either, except – wait – it's his condo. The last thing Mike remembers clearly is finally bringing the Sutton negotiation to an end and Harvey suggesting drinks. Mike sort of remembers that he must've looked confused, because Harvey rolled his eyes and manhandled him towards the elevators.

Whatever happened inbetween then and now had lead to this. Harvey was in the kitchen making more grilled cheese sandwiches than Mike deemed consumable. Shot glasses, limes and a salt shaker were scattered across Harvey's very nice, very expensive glass table. Mike's head hurt. From the tequila or the situation, he wasn't quite sure. Another shot sounded good about now. Another shot was absolutely what he needed, Mike nodded to himself as he poured out the tequila, frowning as he realised all the limes were used up.

“Dude, you're out of limes.”

“You need the lime, rookie? Don't be a wuss. You're a big boy now.”

“Ahh, fuck,” Mike screwed up his face after knocking back the shot. “That was not fun.”

Harvey stuck a plate under his nose, a grin on his face. “Chase it with this.”

“You are a very strange man,” Mike took a bite of the grilled cheese. “Ow, fuck, hot. Burning. Ow.” He glared at Harvey, watching him settle into the sofa next to Mike having grabbed the bottle of tequila.

“Another shot?”

“I take it back, you're not a strange man, you're a wonderful man. A provider of shiny alcohol. Uh. I might be a little drunk.”

Mike doesn't expect Harvey to laugh at that. A big belly laugh that sends Harvey doubling over and leaves Mike staring at him.

“You're drunk too! Harvey Specter is drunk! And, apparently, a giggly drunk. That's weird, dude. I totally had you pegged as a brooding drunk. Or a horny drunk, but not a giggly drunk.” Sometimes Mike thinks he shouldn't be allowed to talk.

Harvey looks up, regaining his composure bit by bit. “I am wholly unsurprised that you talk this much when drunk.”

“This is nothing, you should hear me in bed,” Mike pauses, his brain finally catching up with his mouth “I mean, I talk, all the time, even in bed. Apparently. So I'm told. Can we forget I said anything?”

Harvey's eyes are glassy, the scotch at the bar, and the tequila here taking it's toll on him. Mike thinks there's a few ways this can go, and he's not sure which of those he wants to happen. His alcohol addled mind knows which way he'd like it to go right this second, but the tiny bit of his brain that is attempting to protect him knows it isn't a good idea. It's not. He knows this. Mike's internal debate is still going on when Harvey pours out two more shots and reaches for the salt shaker. Harvey rolls up the sleeve of his faded Henley and, with a brief glance at Mike, sprinkles salt on his forearm.

Oh, thinks Mike. Oh. Harvey tilts his head in an invitation and Mike's brain goes from _this is bad_ to _oh-fuck-yes_. Mike moves closer before ducking his head, his tongue tasting salt, sweat and Harvey. When he looks up, Harvey's hand tilts the shot glass to Mike's lips and he swallows the tequila down, his eyes on Harvey.

“Chaser?” Harvey asks, and before Mike can take a second to answer, Harvey's kissing him, pushing him back into the sofa. Mike mumbles words against Harvey's lips between kisses, he has no idea what he's even saying ( _more, please, fuck, Harvey_ are safe bets) but he can feel Harvey smiling when he does and he can't bring himself to care.

The kisses are sloppy, tequila tinged and as Harvey snakes a hand underneath Mike's shirt, Mike thinks if it wasn't for the whole thing of Harvey being his _boss_ , his hands would be down Harvey's pants by now. So when Harvey pulls back, sits up and starts talking, Mike can't help the disappointed moan that escapes his mouth.

“Fuck. I didn't - .” Harvey's running a hand through his hair and Mike knows he doesn't want to hear what Harvey's going to say next. Mike knew he should've gone with the hands down the pants idea.

Harvey's sitting on him, looking down with regret on his face and, boss or no boss, Mike isn't in the mood for this now.

“Look, if you're going to say how we shouldn't be doing this, could you get off my crotch first?” Mike eyes Harvey as he moves away enough for Mike to sit up “By the way, whatever you're going to say is bullshit.”

“I'm your boss. We can't, and I shouldn't,” Harvey sighs “It was wrong of me.”

“Like I said, bullshit.”

“It's not bullshit, Mike. Normally I'm more than happy to bend the rules, it's kind of what I do. But this? This isn't right. It's my fault, and I'm sorry.”

“Bull. Shit.”

“For a genius, your vocabulary is lacking.”

“It's the only phrase I'm finding appropriate. Fuck, I'm not a blushing virgin, Harvey. I don't expect you to give me a ring in exchange for sex. Shit, before you pushed me away I was giving serious consideration to shoving my hands down your pants and, oh god, I did not mean to say that out loud. This is your fault, you know. You and tequila.”

Mike slumps back into the sofa and closes his eyes. His head has started hurting again and he knows it's the situation this time, not the tequila. The idea of biking back to Brooklyn feeling like this is ridiculous, but getting a cab would mean money he doesn't want to spend and, fuck, why can't things be simple for once.

Harvey's voice interrupts his thoughts “You've got three options.”

“Huh?” Mike opens his eyes to look at Harvey. Who is, okay, standing up and taking his top off. That's interesting. Mike tries hard not to stare, but knows he's failing.

“Three options. Option one; you leave, get a cab and we don't talk about this on Monday. Option two; you stay here, on the sofa, maybe you get breakfast before you go home, and we don't talk about this on Monday.”

“And option three?” Mike asks, getting off the sofa and moving closer to Harvey.

“Option three is you come with me, I find out just how talkative you really are in bed and you don't go home this weekend. We still don't talk about this on Monday, but maybe you come home with me again.”

“No breakfast with option three?”

“There could be pancakes. If you're good.”

“You do realise taking your shirt off was cheating, right?” Mike whispers. Harvey's smirking as Mike invades his personal space, and there's really only one thing Mike ever wants to do when he does that.

“Sometimes you gotta play dirty, rookie.” Harvey murmurs against Mike's mouth, chasing his words with a kiss.


End file.
